Earl of Scandal (London Lords) (23 page)

“Nothing’s wrong.” He smiled again. “Must be the bloody champagne. It’s supposed to boost a man’s spirits, but it always makes me blue-deviled.”

Merissa sighed in exasperation. He wasn’t going to tell her. She was going to have to find out what was wrong on her own. Perhaps after they reached the town house, she’d sneak out again, return to the party and question the people she’d seen him talking with.

But most of them would have left by then. From the striking of the church bells it appeared to be after two o’clock in the morning.

The coach stopped in front of the town house. Christian helped her out and guided her up the walk. Merissa’s feet hurt and her eyes felt gritty, but she knew she would not sleep.

She made a great show of saying good night and going up to her bedchamber. Inside the room, she swiftly changed to a practical day dress and her oldest slippers. After taking off her eardrops and the net and flower ornament in her hair, she went to the door, opened it, and listened. With luck, Charles would be home and she could enlist his aid.

She went a few doors down to the bedroom he was staying in and knocked softly. In seconds, a partially clothed Charles appeared in the doorway. “Merissa, what are you doing here?” He motioned for her to enter and began to button his shirt. “Don’t tell me,” he said excitedly as he closed the door behind her. “Christian’s proposed and you’ve come to ask my blessing!”

Merissa shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Charles frowned. “Now, see here, he’d better ask soon. I’ve only tolerated his dallying with you because I thought he’d puff it off to the papers any day. Figured if he was going to make you his countess, things would be all right. But if he’s not, well that’s a different matter.” He balled his hands into fists. “I’ve just barely begun to learn, but Gentleman Jackson says I’ve got the stuff to be a prime miller.”

Merissa rolled her eyes at Charles’ pugnacious stance. That’s all she needed—for her brother to get into a brawl with Christian over her honor!

“I need your help, Charles,” she said, “but not that kind. I want you to see if Christian’s still awake. If he is, offer to share a brandy with him, try to get him to talk. Something’s wrong, and I need to know what it is.”

“Wrong? How do you mean?”

Merissa paced impatiently. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I... a woman can sense these things, especially about a man she cares for. Something happened at Lady Wentfield’s. He’s acted strangely ever since. I’ve tried to get it out of him, but he won’t talk to me. I thought, with you being a man and all, he might let down his guard with you.”

Charles shrugged. “I’d be happy to try.”

Merissa nodded. “He’s pretty well foxed, as far as can tell. Maybe that will loosen his tongue.” Charles tucked in his shirt, and then regarded his reflection in the glass. “Do I need to put on a jacket? Or will I do like this?”

“Just go,” Merissa said. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m going to wait by the door and listen.”

“You mean you’re going to eavesdrop?”

Merissa gave a sigh of exasperation. “He may let slip a clue that you won’t recognize. This is important, Charles. I have a feeling that more than simply my happiness depends upon it.”

Fifteen

“Well, if it isn’t the young cub,” Christian said derisively as Charles poked his head into the drawing room. “Come in, come in. I’ve an exciting contribution to make to your London education. You might as well learn how it’s done, Charles, how the mighty fall to their doom.”

“Sir?” The youth regarded him with a puzzled expression.

“Have a drink.” Christian motioned to the brandy decanter. “I’ve already had several.”

Charles poured himself a brandy and then took a seat across from Christian.

Christian held out his half-empty glass to clink with the other man’s. “Cheers. Bottoms up.”

“What are we drinking to, sir?”

“Drinking to?” Christian felt the bitterness pour out. “To my demise, Charles. Or perhaps simply my banishment from polite society. Either way, I’m done up. Completely done up.”

“You, sir? But I thought you were rich as Croesus.”

“Not that sort of ‘done up.’ Give me credit for going out in style at least!”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Damn it! Stop calling me ‘sir’!”

Charles flinched as if he had been struck and Christian felt an uncomfortable stirring of guilt. He’d become a sort of role model for the boy. A paragon of all it meant to be a well-bred sophisticated gentleman. It was going to break Charles’ heart to see the ugly side of his idol’s world.

Christian rose restlessly. His stomach lurched with the movement. Good thing he hadn’t scheduled the duel for the next morning. He’d be too foxed to stand up, let alone shoot. On the other hand, since he had no intention of quitting drinking anytime soon, he supposed he would be in even worse shape by the time of his assignation the day after.

“I’m going to need a second, Charles. A pity you’re too young for the role. Besides, I don’t think Merissa would thank me for getting you involved with this sort of thing.”

“A second, sir?  Why would you need a second? Unless...” Charles’s eyes widened. “A duel! You’re going to fight a duel!”

“Delightful, isn’t it? Pistols for two. Breakfast for one.”

“Well, I...” Charles suddenly looked crestfallen. “Merissa won’t like it. Not at all. She despises that sort of thing. Said she thought boxing was a foolish waste of time. Told me she had a mind to wring your neck for encouraging me.”

“Sensible girl, Merissa.” Although he tried to fight it, there was a terrible ache in Christian’s throat as he said her name. He approached Charles and laid a hand on his arm. “Give you a bit of advice, cub. Women really are smarter than men, altogether much more reasonable and sound-witted. No women would ever commit the idiocy of standing in a field trying to shoot another woman over a matter of pride. Females are smarter than that, Charles. They don’t die for such stupid reasons.”

“Stupid? You really think it’s stupid? Then, why are you doing it?”

“Have to. Code of honor and all that.”

“I know you’ll hit the other fellow first,” Charles said confidently.

“What makes you think that?”

Charles shrugged. “Figure you’re a crack shot with the pistol same way you’re a prime bruiser with your fists and a sure hand with the ribbons.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Christian set down his brandy glass. “I’m not going to fire first.”

Charles came up out of his chair. “Why the devil not?”

“Because I’m the party who’s in the wrong.”
Because I’d rather die than face Merissa’s disappointment in me.

Charles digested this for a moment, and then asked. “What did you do, your Lordship, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Took another man’s wife to bed.”

The cub’s eyes grew huge. “But...”

“Oh, it was mistake. She wore a mask. I was foxed to the eyeballs. I had no idea what I’d done until the next morning. Doesn’t change a thing, of course, but it certainly wasn’t intentional.” Damn right, it wasn’t. As far as he could tell, Honoria had deliberately seduced him, then thought better of it when she was caught. But the man was always to blame in these matters. Christian sighed. “This all happened weeks ago. I’d truly thought the matter had blown over.”

“What if you went to the man and explained that it is was a mistake?”

Christian shook his head. “Don’t you think I tried that? Averill’s a stiff-necked, pompous sort. Determined to have his satisfaction at any cost.” But why? Why was Anthony willing to risk his life over his wife’s indiscretions? He’d never acted the fool before.

Doubts nagged at Christian’s throbbing brain. Something wasn’t right about the whole incident but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He was too inebriated, too weary, and too miserable over losing Merissa. He’d been so close to knowing happiness, so very close. Then, his wicked past had caught up with him. He’d been wrong. A man his age couldn’t change. He was what he was. Once a wastrel, always a wastrel.

Well, he might as well go down true to his reputation. It would make a scintillating headline in The Post:
Earl Shot By Jealous Husband
. He’d probably end up a hero. His memory idolized by giggling misses who would find his demise romantic, and foolish cubs like Charles who’d see his futile death in a noble light.

Damn! That was the last thing he wanted, to lead other unsuspecting youths down the path to ruin!

He turned to glare at Charles. The young man’s face wouldn’t seem to focus. “Now, see here, Charles. I meant what I said. This is a stupid thing. A futile waste. Try to learn from my mistakes, not emulate them. Dueling is an absurd waste of time.”

Charles nodded. Christian sighed. He was not at all certain he sounded convincing.

~ ~ ~

Merissa stood outside the drawing room door, her mind reeling. Christian was going to fight a duel. It was possible he might be killed. Indeed, from the gloomy, fatalistic way he spoke of the confrontation, it seemed very likely he would be.

The idea made Merissa furious. How dare Christian accept such an ignoble fate. Who cared about his wretched notions of honor! He had too much to live for!

She thought of bursting into the room and telling him that, giving him a tongue-lashing that he would not soon forget. But she knew Christian, knew how stubborn he was. Very likely he would put her off and pretend to agree, then go ahead with the duel anyway.

She had to stop him somehow. She had to.

Stepping back from the doorway, she frowned in concentration. It took two for a duel to take place. If she couldn’t convince Christian to forego his hen-witted plan, perhaps she could influence the other party. Anthony Averill—that was the name of the man he intended to meet. But how would she find him? And how would she make him listen to her?

What about the woman? Surely she cared something for Christian. She’d gone to bed with him, after all.

The very idea made Melissa’s vision blur with jealousy. But Christian had said it was a few weeks ago, before he came to Derbyshire. She couldn’t really take him to task for what he’d done before he met her.

Yes, the woman. She was the one she must persuade. If she could convince Mrs. Averill to intervene between the two men, it might be possible to prevent the duel from taking place.

Merissa turned and started for the stairs. She waited in her room for Charles. He came up a short while later, shaking his head. “It’s a damned shame,” he said. “But you have to admire his bravery. Even if it was the only decent thing to do, I’m not sure could face the prospect of death so calmly.”

Merissa shook her head. “Don’t be a bacon brain. Christian’s not going to die. I don’t intend to allow this duel to take place.”

“How do you mean to stop it?”

“You’ll see,” Merissa said. “I have a plan.”

Merissa woke early with an awful anxiety hovering over her. Christian! She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. It was up to her. Christian had saved her brother. Now it was her turn to help him.

She rang for the maid. Yvette dressed her in a green-striped muslin day dress and arranged her hair. Merissa cast one glance in the glass and sighed. At least she looked respectable. Perhaps Mrs. Averill would listen to her.

She went downstairs, and forgoing the delicious odors wafting from the breakfast room, went to find Bowes, the butler.

“Yes, miss?” He came to attention before her.

“Do you know the Anthony Averills? I believe they’re acquaintances of His Lordship.”

“I seem to recall the name. In fact, I believe the earl has received invitations to their home on several occasions.”

Merissa nodded excitedly. “Is it possible you might still have one of those invitations? Or anything that might give their address?”

“It’s possible. Why are you seeking such information, Miss Cassell?”

She smiled brightly. “I met them at the party last night and Mrs. Averill asked me to call. I didn’t want to bother Christian with it since he is...” she raised her brows meaningfully, “...  rather indisposed this morning.”

The butler nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A short while later, Bowes returned with a piece of parchment. “Here’s an invitation to some sort of masquerade party. It gives the Averill’s address.”

Merissa nodded. “Well, I’m off then. If you could call me a hackney.”

“I could have the phaeton brought around. His Lordship said you were to have the use of it any time you wished.”

“No, no, that’s too much trouble. I need to be off immediately.”

Bowes cleared his throat. “Miss Cassell, I’m not certain you are aware of this, but it’s generally considered bad manners to call on a lady before eleven in the morning.” He nodded to the timepiece on the hallway table; it showed barely ten o’clock.

“I... well I’ll take a drive in Hyde Park first,” Merissa answered. “I really do need a breath of fresh air.”

The butler secured a hackney for her. As soon as they were away from the curb, Merissa called out to the driver. “I don’t want to go to the park after all. Take me to 659 Park Lane.”

~ ~ ~

Bowes was not exaggerating. When Merissa announced herself to the Averill butler, the man looked down his long nose at her and said, “I’m sorry, madam, but Mrs. Averill never receives callers this early.”

“This is not a social call,” Merissa answered frostily. “Tell madam that I’ve come on urgent business regarding her husband and Lord Bedlington. It might well end up being a matter of life and death.”

The butler raised his brows at this, but did as Merissa bid.

A short while later, a lushly beautiful redhead sauntered into the drawing room where Melissa waited. The woman wore a thin silk wrapper that gaped open at the neck and clearly revealed the outlines of her nipples beneath. She draped herself over the chaise across from Merissa and regarded her coyly. “So, you must be Christian’s little light o’ love from Derbyshire.”

“I am a friend of Christian’s, yes. That’s why I’m here.” Merissa sat forward on her chair. “Are you aware that your husband and Christian have engaged to fight a duel?”